


Lockdown Blessing

by A_N_D



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Gen, Post-Episode: Good Omens: Lockdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:13:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24275656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_N_D/pseuds/A_N_D
Summary: *shows up 15 minutes late with Starbucks and a Lockdown fic*Do not post to other sites
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39





	Lockdown Blessing

What Crowley hadn't mentioned to Aziraphale, when his bored sulk was so rudely interrupted by a phone call that did not include a request to come over, was that he _had_ been outside. Bless Aziraphale! (and Crowley meant that in both the obviously angelic sense and the demon definition, "bless" being a curse word in Hell.) _Bless_ Aziraphale! Crowley had indeed been "out and about" during lockdown.

He hadn't liked it one bit.

Oh, Crowley wouldn't have minded if he could just "get ominously close to people" and "tell them there was a party somewhere." He might even have exerted himself into getting people to start a party just for the Hell of it. Unfortunately, Crowley had been packed off Stateside in mid-April instead, to ensure that mutterings about anti-lockdown demonstrations became an actual event.

-

The crowd was angry and triumphant, egging each other on with armament and political sloganeering. Crowley was trying to figure out how Confederate flags and guns even tied into an economic argument when he heard a familiar voice.

"IT IS GOOD TO SEE YOU."

Pleased at the unexpected praise, Crowley was just turning to greet Death when the voice continued, "I MISSED YOU AT ARMAGEDDON."

"I heard you missed Armageddon, period." It was less of a sentence than a series of coughs full of phlegm and mucus.

"YES. THERE WAS… INTERFERENCE."

"I don't mind." The other speaker horked and spat. "It's nice to have the chance to feel needed again. Hang on a second, I have to breathe on this one. She's got a husband, five kids, and her aged parents at home she's taking care of. She needs a rest, don't you think?"

"AN ETERNAL REST?"

"I'm sure it would bring her equal peace if a couple of the others died in her place. No more parents to take care of, no more fussy baby…"

"I SHALL PUT THEM ON MY CALENDAR."

There was probably more, but Crowley fled before either Death or Pestilence saw him.

-

Back at home, just as he was settling down to sleep through the latest plague, that _blessed_ angel called, full of fuss and cake, just to emphatically _not_ invite him over. Crowley set his alarm for September. It had to be over by then, and it would serve Aziraphale right to have to fend off hopeful book buyers on his own. Perhaps Crowley _would_ start a rumor about a party – at the bookshop. That would show Aziraphale!

-

_*flip*_

_*plop*_

Crowley cracked an annoyed yellow eye. It had only been two days! Who could get a decent nap in just two days? And what was that noise anyway? Had one of the plants gotten sloppy while he slept?

It was a letter.

Now, Crowley did not get mail. He got infernal orders (and occasionally take-away restaurant flyers) but never letters.

Nevertheless, the letter lay on the mat, white and green and innocent as an angel.

Innocent as - ! Crowley snatched it up and snorted at the address. Esquire, as if he was some sort of law firm. (On second thought, Crowley had to be fair – he did do a _lot_ of work with contracts. Also lawyers. Hell was stuffed to the brimstone with lawyers.)

The opposite side was sealed with the imprint of folded wings preserved in green wax. Crowley racked his brain but came up blank. Was that all Aziraphale could find? Did it mean something? Bet it meant something. Bet it meant something very meaningful about… 200 years ago.

Crowley was a creature of the now. Aziraphale was… so very not.

Making a mental note to look up the symbolism later and with a fond smile he would deny until the end of time, Crowley settled down to read.

-

The letters came every other day. There was no particular point to them – just Aziraphale's usual twaddle and piffle, a steam of consciousness meant to amuse interspersed with cheerful mottos as threadbare as his waistcoat, things like "keep your pecker up, except you don't have a pecker, do you, dear boy, you're a snake, not a duck. What do snakes keep up? Their muzzles? Or is it a snout? Is a snake nose a snose? Snose or not, I hope you're having a lovely snooze and dreaming of what you like best. Unless it's something I should thwart. Don't dream of doing anything too demonic, dear boy."

So that's why Aziraphale hadn't wanted him to come over! His angel could kill a little eternal time by writing letters, and Crowley could kill a little eternal boredom reading them. Crowley didn't answer, of course, and he didn't call; he didn't want his company turned down again. He still thought they'd have more fun together, but if this antique correspondence was what made Aziraphale happy, then it made Crowley happy.

Hell could torture him for an eternity before Crowley would admit that he set his alarm for the mail.

-

One day Crowley's big screen TV snapped on as he was sauntering to get the mail. Crowley froze for a moment, then turned cautiously on his heel.

"Hiya, Hastur," he said in his best "you know I'm immune to holy water now, so don't screw with me" casual tone.

It wasn't Hastur.

"Crowley," Beelzebub intoned, managing to sound impassive and furious at the same time. "Your friend Azziraphale hasz gone too far! The UK Blesszing isz doing incalculable damage to our causze!”

 _That lying little bastard, he said he wasn't doing anything!_ Crowley thought.

"I'll just go over and make sure he doesn't do anything like that again," Crowley said.

"Do whatever you have to do! Don't let usz catch you leaving him alone for more tricksz until this isz over!"

"Yes, Lord Beezlebub! I won't take my eyesss off that angel for a sssecond."

-

Crowley wore a mask when he went out. It would have been more demonic not to, but human stress and misery already lay like a fog over the city. A good demon would have rejoiced.

Crowley was not a particularly good demon. It depressed him.

The Bentley would have drawn too much attention if it was parked long term, so Crowley walked instead, swinging a picnic basket full of his best dessert wines – anything that would go well with cake. Plus something more robust and some cheese to go with bread. Sourdough was a kind of bread, wasn't it? What did Aziraphale mean, "four different kinds of sourdough loaf" anyway? Sourdough was sourdough wasn't it? How could you have kinds? Or was sourdough a sort of collective term, like "fish"? Should he have brought a good wine for fish?

He paused for effect just outside the shop and banged on the door right over the "Closed for the duration" sign.

"WE'RE CLOSED!" shouted someone who sounded like he had a full mouth. After a pause (and probably a swallow) the voice inside tried again more clearly. "GO AWAY AND STAY HOME!"

"Can't," Crowley called, opening the door with a snap.

Aziraphale bustled down the circular stairs, trailing indignation and powdered sugar. "Crowley! I told you-"

"You told me you were following human orders to stay home too, so what's this about a blessing?"

Aziraphale stopped. "What blessing?"

"I dunno. Thought you knew. Beelzebub's certainly buzzing about it."

"I have no idea what you mean."

Aziraphale shifted, obviously trying to make up his mind. Crowley waited, patient as a snake.

Aziraphale sniffed, pouting a bit. "Well, now that you are here, there's an interesting little thing from America called a "King Cake" just about to come out of the oven. Only it's not a cake, not really. More of an iced bread. You're supposed to put charms in it like a Christmas pudding, but I left that part out. What kind of blessing, anyway?"

"No idea. Beelzebub just called it the UK Blessing. Did you tell the churches to toll their bells all at once or something?"

"And have the bellringers leave their homes?" Aziraphale was outraged. "I tell you, I have no idea. You'll have to look it up on your mobile. You can use it to call someone at Information, yes?"

"Oh, come on, angel, internet searching was invented last century!" Crowley groaned as he followed up the stairs.

-

They had sampled the king cake together, then Crowley tasted samplings of leftover buns and fairy cakes, then they were halfway through a rather decent ice wine before Crowley actually bothered running the search.

He regretted it as soon as the music started. Crowley dropped his phone and backed away as Aziraphale listened with a cocked head. "Oh, that's Numbers 6. Verses 24 through 26," he said as the first chorus of "Amens" floated from it.

"The humans have set the Bible to music?" Crowley asked, wondering if his phone was going to sting when he tried to pick it up again. One YouTube video wouldn't consecrate it, would it? And if it did, surely he could deconsecrate it again with any number of other YouTube videos. There were a lot of diabolical videos on YouTube.

Oh, bits and pieces, now and then." Aziraphale waved his wineglass. "There was a nun in the 70s who got a top 10 hit with the Lord's Prayer, and before that some group named the… pigeons? Herds? Ducks?"

"The Byrds?"

"That's the one. You know the song, though, from Ecclesiastes? Oh, my, look at this." Aziraphale had picked up the phone as soon as Crowley dropped it. "There really are singers from all across the UK. Cities all over England, one from Wales, a few from Ireland, one from Scotland…" Aziraphale made a face. "I'm not sure about the rap part, though."

"Yeah, yeah, no need to give me the whole list. You're telling me you had nothing to do with inspiring this?"

"Not at all. All human, as so many things are."

"Well, I've been sent to keep an eye on you, make sure you don't do it again. Orders are to not budge until quarantine's over."

"Really?" Aziraphale sat back, contemplating this. After a moment, he smiled.

"What do you think of elderflower and lemon sponge, dear boy?"

**Author's Note:**

> Many cities and places around the world have sung a virtual blessing during quarantine. The UK version referenced in this fic can be found at www.youtube.com/watch?v=PUtll3mNj5U
> 
> Turn, Turn, Turn was written in the 50s by Pete Seeger and became a 1965 hit by the Byrds
> 
> Sister Janet Mead turned the Lord's Prayer into an international hit in 1973. It topped the Billboard charts at number 4.


End file.
